The Other Question?

To see, or not to see, that, too, is the question:
Whether ’tis happier to hail heartless happenstance
With resigned reality, or designed denial,
Twice succored by seductive self-hypnosis—ay, there’s the flub!
For what follies would such fogged perceptions fashion,
And ought not fierce defiance fade if sense has flown?
Thus vanity, that shifty, false defector,
Binds cowards, all, to say we’d sagely see,
But seeing we’ve imbibed its boozy blindness,
In vain we half-close eyes, shake spears, exist.